It is a Friday afternoon. The week has been long. The week is especially long for some when work has called you in on your rostered day off. Ugh.
The city on a Friday afternoon, is awash with drunken suits; corporate crapulence at its best. Rockpool Bar & Grill is no exception, however, I have been wanting to try their burger for months, and no bunch of rowdy, corpulent, bankers is going to stop me.
The wagyu burger at Rockpool Bar & Grill has a cult following. The experience is off to a bad start though, as we are served by one of those I’d-rather-not-make-eye-contact-with-you kind of waiters. Fun times. Anyway, crummy service aside, let me get to the burger… It arrives, and looks promising.
Now, for those of you who have followed my search for the best burger, you will know that I prize two things in a burger: the smoke/char factor and the grease factor. This burger has neither. This burger reeks of raw mince. Having been warned by the surly waiter that the chef recommends this burger be served medium-rare, I am expecting a lovely charred patty on the outside, with a giggling pink inside. Rare, does not mean raw. It just smells like I have opened a pack of raw supermarket mince. The bun is sad, and there is absolutely nothing redeeming about this burger, least of all its $24 price tag and Neil Perry name. This is one very disappointing burger. Sigh.
I am not sure if this is a bad-day-in-the-kitchen burger, or if this is how it always tastes, but I am miffed as to why this burger has so many fans… A case of the Emperor’s New Clothes, perhaps? Yes, I think so. I spend the rest of the night with severe burger-regret and a tummy ache.
The burger at Stitch Bar, still remains the uncontested champion in the best burger competition. Absolutely uncontested.
